A Snowy Night
by Jan. McNeville
Summary: Winter in England. Cold winds and white, fluffy snow, as well as tolling bells of midnight. Decidedly AxI.


A/N: Does anyone here own anything? Nope. So why keep expecting it?  
Written in response to the grim realization that I have yet to contribute anything of merit to this canon. Here you go.

For once, Integra Wingates Hellsing was _not_ seated at her desk doing paperwork. Instead, she was sitting in the dormer window of her chamber in a pose that, for her, displayed an unnatural abandon. Her back leaned against the wall and her feet were drawn up onto the cushioned seat, an ashtray not far away.

The green suit jacket was hung on the corner of a chair's back, and her shoes had been left on the ground, leaving her feet in a pair of black and more than usually thick dress socks. It was, after all, winter, so in addition to the woolly socks, she had on a vest (green, of course,) over the white shirt. It was unbuttoned, and hung lightly, as did her undone bow cravat beside an almost recklessly opened collar.

Yes, this evening she was looking most unlike herself. It was a beautiful night, with snow falling constantly but softly in the blue-black of half-past-eleven. The red glow of her cigar shone twice, reflecting in the window as well as life, and the smoke coupled with the soft scents of the room to create a familiar, delicate haze.

Thick boots crossed the carpet, though such a tiny sound was more than unnecessary.

"Report."

Alucard smiled, showing a great many white teeth. It did not matter, as he would not be reflected in the window, though he was certain she could sense his expressions by now.

"One lone imitation. Barely worth the attention."

"Silenced?"

"Naturally…my Master." His low voice rumbled, almost purring the title. He drew the evening's souvenir from his shadows, holding it forward between white-gloved fingers. "For you."

Integra turned her head almost absently, frowning slightly as she beheld the object. What in the world…

"…_Why?"_

"Can't a good pet drag something in every so often?" The vampire's smile became a little less mischievous and a little more amused at her reaction. "Besides, there were many at the site. I found this one to be the most perfect, and decided a piece of evidence would please you."

"You do realize this kind of inappropriate gesture will not be tolerated?" she asked rhetorically. Both knew she did not mean it.

"By whom? Who will notice if your dog brings home a stick and wags his tail for praise?"

"I should toss it for you. Right in your arrogant undead face."

"Call me your cat then. I have brought you a delicious mouse, will you stroke my ears and tell me I am a good hunter?"

Almost before Alucard could sense it, Integra decided to call his bluff. She stood, socks making no sound on the plush carpet, and closed the distance between them. Her right hand, for once ungloved, rose and stroked the edge of his left ear with the gentlest touch of fingertips. She looked directly into his eyes and he closed them as she whispered:

"You are a good hunter."

The FREAK had attacked a roadside florist. Carnations, lilies, daisies, orchids and roses had been strewn across the snow. At least Alucard had not chosen a yellow one. He flooded her mind with images of the moon, the flowers, the beautiful night, and snow covering a new heap of dust. For a moment, she felt just what he had felt.

Integra watched as her servant opened his eyes again. The plea in them was evident. She accepted the rose with her bare hand, studying it for a moment, then clenched her fist tightly around the thorny stem. Did he –yes. Alucard let out an audible gasp at this.

She loosened her grip and changed the flower to her left hand's first fingertips, carefully avoiding the thorns this time. Slowly, she opened her cut hand and the vampire knelt on the soft carpet, making less noise than the snow outdoors.

By way of reply, Integra held out the abused palm, a studied nonchalant look in her eyes but a telltale tremble in her lip and stagger in her breathing. A second of consent passed, and the vampire licked the wounds hungrily. In her head she heard his voice:

_"I eat from your hand."_

_"I know."_ It wasn't quite smugness, more the acceptance of a condition she had long suspected.

_"Are you never tempted to howl at the moon? To hunt mice yourself? I am your pet now, but you could be more than what you are…"_

_"And that would leave you to eat all the mice you wish, hunter. If I accept this perennial farce of an offer, what does that make you?"_

The low rumble of Alucard's voice was definitely a purr.

"I am forever your devoted pet…my Master."

Integra's blue eyes flickered for a moment and she glanced backward out the window. The snow was falling, white on the black of the lower roofs of the mansion and outbuildings, on trees and fields, on streets and homes and sleeping villages. Pure, white snow on a thousand surfaces, good intentions covering a multitude of sins. She turned fully and walked toward the sight of the wintry evening. In the distance, a clock tolled the mournful notes of midnight. A streetlamp, yellow and faraway, sputtered and went out. The window was single-paned, and Integra realized she felt somewhat cold. She had all evening, but it had been keeping her awake. Now it was sepulchral.

The undead creature rising behind her and stepping closer should not have been any warmer than a winter's night. His proximity should have been frightening, should have set her spine to crawling far more than a mere winter wind. Why was he –_it_ so strangely warm?

Oh, yes. He had just been drinking blood. _Her_ blood.

Alucard moved even closer, so close that she could feel the carpet indenting under his boots with her own feet. The folds of the red Victorian coat, not shadows, covered her shoulders slightly, and his dark, buttoned suit brushed the silk of her vest as it lay over her shivering spine.

"Cold?"

"Yes," she admitted. She never admitted anything, and there was a note of something, not defeat, nor surrender, in her voice as she did this once. The vampire slipped his right arm around her waist and his left along her own, until his hand also wrapped around the rose. She glanced down and noticed the glove with the sigil had been removed. In ominous fascination, she watched as Alucard pierced his fingertip just as she had her palm on the thorny flower.

As his bleeding hand rose, so slightly, she felt the touch of his lips against her bare neck as he spoke:

"Another gift from your pet, Master?"

(finis.)


End file.
